


An Evening with Sailor Draka

by ap_aelfwine



Category: Draka Series - S.M. Stirling, Sailor Moon - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-12
Updated: 2008-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:13:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ap_aelfwine/pseuds/ap_aelfwine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Gwen Ingolfsson fell four hundred years into the past of an alternate Earth, she has discovered all manner of things no <i>H. drakensis</i> would ever have believed could exist: magic, survival after defeat, mercy, even egalitarian co-existence with "feral humans". But a Draka on the side of Good is still a Draka...</p>
<p>A response to Ken Wolfe's "The Kiss of the Enemy".<br/>(First published on LJ, 12 January 2008)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Evening with Sailor Draka

An Evening with Sailor Draka  
A Domination of the Draka/Sailor Moon crossover fanfic  
By Andrew yclept Aelfwine  
***  
The characters and situations of The Domination of the Draka, Sailor Moon, and anything I may have missed are copyright S.M. Stirling, Naoko Takeuchi, and the other appropriate creators and publishers. They may not be used or reproduced commercially without permission. The use of these characters and situations is not to be construed as challenge to said copyright. They are merely borrowed for this work of non-commercial fanfiction, from which the author derives no financial benefit.  
***  
Het warning. Femmeslash warning. Bi warning. Mild violence warning. Lack-of-explicit-content warning. Reformed!Draka warning. Cross-(hominid)species relationship warning. Yours truly warning. Superheroish vigilante activity of dubious legality.  
***  
This is not an Usagi Ingolfsson (Sailor Draka of Bore) story.  
***  
  
Gwen lifted the man slowly off his feet, restraining herself from the quick jerk she wished she might employ. Flip him up, catch him, then fling him hard across the alley into a wall, to fall broken to the ground. A few seconds of terror, a swift end, and an impressively damaged carcass left behind; an appropriate compromise between the quick mercy killing due a mad dog or a deranged serf and the lingering agony meant for a bushman or a criminal who preyed on fellow serfs.

But this wasn't the Domination, and Gwen now answered to higher authorities than the service of the State, the glory of the Race, and her own Will. She pushed him up against the wall, holding him so his head was a little higher than hers, a parody of hominid height-based dominance that underscored how completely he was at her mercy. Pressed his back tight against the rough brick, so it would bruise his skin beneath the t-shirt.

She'd spent the last few weeks in the Caribbean, and had kept her skin walnut brown for the moment, the way she liked to wear it in sunny climates. She'd start it lightening later tonight, and she'd be milk-pale by the day after tommorrow, when she was due to host a charity luncheon in London. Assuming this witless pig did try telling anyone that the Director of the Ingolfsson Foundation had roughed him up on a street in Chicago, he'd be laughed out of the police station.

_Gods curse it, he's gone and fainted._ She pulled him away a bit from the wall, so as not to crack his skull, and shook him. "Wake up, boy," she growled, letting the purring gutteral drawl of her youth come forth in her speech, flavouring it with the speech of her distant cousins of this timeline in order to keep it within her subject's comprehension. "Wake up afore I hurts you wors'n I aim to."

"Wha... Who are you?" She wouldn't have thought his already pasty complexion could go paler. Well, four hundred years would scarce be worth living if there were never anything new to be learnt.

"I'm Mandy Sorenson," she said sweetly, switching to a high pitched breathy burble in the dialect the locals called General American. "Don't you remember me? I'm fourteen, and I like horses, and music, and anime, and boys. You said my fanfic was really cool, and I was really mature for my age, and you'd like to hang out, and smoke a little, and maybe, if I wanted to, we could fool around? And you said you were nineteen."

Gwen grinned, a brutal predator's expression that had little to do with humour. "I reckon you were, oh... twenty years gone, right?" He didn't say anything. She shook him a little bit again. "You ain't trained to proper respect, are you? When I ask a question, I want an answer. An you calls me mist–you calls me ma'am. You got that?" His mouth worked for a moment, and she pressed him a little harder against the bricks. "Question, boy!"

"Yes. Yes, ma'am. I got it. Are you going to kill me, ma'am? Please, God, no?"

"Well... we'll see about that. I ain't making promises. An you ain't askin questions, boy, I am. Now... just what were you aiming to do with Miss Sorensen?"

"I was... I was just gonna teach her some things. She was gonna like it, ma'am."

"Truly? Then why have you got them han'cuffs, that tape in your car? Why have you got that old shed all fitted up in the woods, the one with the soundproofing, the rings in the walls, the drain in the floor?"

"How? How did you know? Ma'am."

"Why don't you just rest assured I know, hey? Just like I know about your disgustin' little stories, and your drawin's. Which are bein' eradicated by a little virus a friend of mine made, by the by, wherever they've gone, and all the data around them along with. Just as your little playhouse is bein' burnt to ash. And-- " she snapped her fingers and there was a sullen thump in the distance "-- your car's caught fire. Which that model's prone to, I'm told. I ‘spect you'll have no trouble convincin' your insurance company. Assuming, of course, you live to talk with them. Which depends on your answerin' my questions. Remember, boy?"

"I'm... I'm sort of into bondage, Ma'am. And she told me she was eighteen."

"It ain't bondage if you ain't got consent, shithead, just rape an' abuse. And she didn't tell you any such thing." She switched to "Mandy's" voice. "And I should know better than anybody." She returned to her own voice, more or less. "Mandy's a smart girl, fortunately. And her big sister's got a friend, who's got a friend, who's got a friend, who happens to be an... acquaintance of mine. It's six weeks gone since you was chatting with the real Mandy. Whose name ain't nothing close to Sorensen, by the by, so don't you waste your time trying to find her.

"Now, then. I've scoped out your other identity. The one posts the stories about rapin', torturin', murderin', an' sometimes eatin' young girls. You are Kowboy Kody Killer, ain't you? Don't lie, boy. Lyin' makes me very unhappy."

"Yes, ma'am. But... it's just a fantasy. I wouldn't do it."

"Then why're you out here, lurin' a girl, just like one of your damn stories? You ever done this befo', boy?"

"I... I never have, ma'am. I swear it!"

"Good. I believe you. ‘Cause a friend of mine did some lookin' around, a friend's got some ways and means your _gendarmes_ haven't. Iffn you had, we wouldn't be havin' this little _tête à tête_. You'd be kilt dead by now, and I'd be droppin' bits of your carcass on the doorsteps of five or six of your sick little friends.

"Which is what's gon' to happen, does you evah try somethin' like this again. Does you evah build anothah sick little playroom. Does you evah make up anothah gods-damned internet handle, does you evah post one of your sick little stories, does you evah draw anothah sick little picture or pass aroun' one somebody else made. The laws may not have enough cause to hang you til you actually kills some poor child, but I ain't bound by those laws. An' I've killed for much less, boy.

"When I was young, my people owned half the world. Held it under our boots, and everyone in it. Killing, torture, mutilation, and, yes, rape were tools to us.

"But when we found somebody like you, boy, we killed him. Was he the lowest serf, was he one of our own, one way or another, we took him down. ‘Cause you don't let a mad dog live. So you can thank the merciful Maker I didn't used to believe in that I've killed too many people.

"Because that's the sole and single reason why I ain't killin' you right now, just on principle. You understan' me, boy?"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!"

She released him, let him fall to the ground in a heap, kicked him lightly in one buttock. "Now, get up, boy! An get you out of heah. Afore I reconsider bein' merciful."

He staggered to his feet and broke into a shamble that became a run. Gwen watched him as he faded into a blur of infrared.

"You let him live." The voice was one that had become familiar, these past few years. One she had sometimes hated, sometimes resented, and sometimes cared for. The language was alien to this timeline, a muddle of English and Spanish and Japanese that had originated as a children's slang in the Asteroid Belt around the time of her own birth and grown to full-fledged languagehood six lightyears away and four centuries ago, on her personal clock. Or right about now, if one could synchronise calendars across timelines.

"Of course," she said in her own people's speech, the bastard blend of English and German with the remnants of a dozen murdered African tongues. "Disappointing you is one of my favourite hobbies."

"He'd have had it coming. Sick little bastard. And he may give us cause, yet."

"Going to go expend him yourself, Mister Enlightened Democrat?"

"On Samothrace, Miz Elective Monarchist, we hang his kind. But here... not unless he leaves us no choice. My going rogue would make you quite as happy as your going rogue would make me."

"Oh, Lafarge, darlin', you know you'd miss me."

"Of course. I was born to harrass, annoy, and occasionally beat up on Draka. Without you, I'd have to switch to... oh, I don't know... lounge singers? Street mimes?"

"And don't they deserve it?"

"Maybe, but they'd not be half as much fun. You're an actual challenge."

"And our fearless leader would be very disappointed if you were exceeding the limits of justice."

He mock-shuddered. "Exactly. And nobody ever disappoints our dear Usagi twice."

"Because she might cry. And nobody, not even a former Draka Archon–"

"Or a former Samothracian cyber-warrior."

"–wants to face that again."

"Quite right. So, would your Dominance care for a drink? I happen to know a quiet neighbourhood bar not far from here that stocks a surprisingly broad range of cognacs. Including one or two which, I'm told, are favoured by the former CEO of IngolfTech."

"Why, Mister Lafarge, is that an invitation?"

"Take it as you will."

"Then... I will." They strolled away. A few hundred meters on, they linked arms.

"Are they...?" Hino Rei, Sailor Mars, whispered in her companion's ear where they sat side-by-side on the roof of a small grocery.

"Not yet, but soon, I think." Tsukino Usagi, Sailor Moon, giggled softly, and slipped an arm about her friend's waist. "Isn't it sweet?"

"They were trying to kill each other a few years ago. And isn't she a different species? Less close to human than a chimp, or something like that?"

"They're not as different as they were raised to think. In more ways than one... did you realise that they're actually distant cousins?"

"Eww..."

"Don't be silly. You and I and Mamo-chan are only a few degrees further apart."

Rei blushed. "I still think it's sort of squicky. She's, what, four hundred years older?"

"It won't make much difference in Crystal Tokyo. But we'll still tease them about it."

"Oh."

***  
Well, this isn't exactly a continuation of Ken Wolfe's "The Kiss of the Enemy," but it is inspired by my dissatisfaction with the ending and his apparent acceptance of the Samothracian line that _Homo Drakensis_ are sub-human barely sentient beings.

It's years since I've watched much Sailor Moon, and my portrayal of Usagi and Rei reflects, among other things [](http://wsr.livejournal.com/profile)[**wsr**](http://wsr.livejournal.com/)'s excellent fic.

ETA: I don't necessarily approve of how close Gwen and Lafarge have come to entrapment here, but it sounds like something they would do, if they were working together on cases like this.


End file.
